


Fought My Way into Your Heart

by illuminirk



Series: Christmas Smuts [1]
Category: Captain America, MCU, Marvel, Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Whump, passing mention of trauma, past indication of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-30 14:19:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19854967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illuminirk/pseuds/illuminirk
Summary: "Jerk.""Soldier."





	Fought My Way into Your Heart

_They’d never been the most normal couple in the book. To be fair, none of the situations that led up to them had been normal either. Most lovers didn’t fight supervillains on a semi-regular basis or know how to kill demons in their sleep, much less first meet while one was covered in blood and the other in sweat and…well, more blood. But normal never really worked out for them anyway – had it?_

Steve had been on a recon mission, looking for info about Bucky that Sam’s source swore existed. But his search led him places that made even his stomach turn, and his jaw clenched and unclenched time and again. It was the last spot on the list, and he had almost no hope of it leading anywhere.

Stepping through the doorway, noting the crushed and rusted door, he assessed the room at a glance. Tools with decaying handles and dull blades lay on tables cluttered with refuse, and it all smelled of dust and dirt and neglect. No wonder – it was tucked into the roughest part of town with hardly an alleyway to lean on, and the owner had been dead for years. If he hadn’t thought that maybe it was still in use by the lowest of gangs, he wouldn’t have even come. (That was a lie. He would have. It might have involved Bucky. He would always come.)

He turned to leave again, shouldering his shield, and heard a faint noise. It sounded like a scream. The shield came off again, and—he would have sworn it wasn’t, but it was most definitely a smile.

Maybe it was Bucky, maybe it wasn’t. At least it was something.

Dean tried to bite his own tongue in an attempt to stop the pain, the pain, the pain shattering his ribs and composure alike. The blood clogged his throat and he choked. The laughter shouldn’t have stung anymore but it did. He swallowed, ignoring the taste of his own life, and tried to breathe. It hurt. It all hurt. It all hurt it all hurt it hurt—

“Where’s Sam?” he spat, and there was silence. Then more pain. He screamed.

He didn’t know how long it was before he realized the pain had stopped, before he opened his eyes again and stopped screaming and managed to breathe without fear in his lungs like fire. But when that moment came, when he squinted up through a bloody brow, he realized why he could.

“Hey,” said Steve, panting a bit. He couldn’t help staring; it had been a while since he’d seen such sloppy torture work. He swallowed. “There were, uh, a few guys. I took care of them. Need some help?”

Dean tried to raise his head up further but collided with his arms, which were strapped to the ceiling, and he winced. “Yeah, sure.” He cleared his throat and choked again. /Stupid./

Without another word, Steve stepped forward and untied Dean’s wrists, let him down slowly. “Can you stan—oh.” He had his answer as Dean’s legs shook and crumpled under him, and Steve was left with an armful of half-comatose, very bloody, very shirtless Winchester. “Alright then.” He didn’t hesitate before lifting Dean into a bridal carry and cautiously making his exit.

Not until they were halfway out did he notice Dean had put his arms around his neck. And not until Dean was safe at Sam’s house, in Steve’s bed, asleep and looking much more scared and a lot less blood, did Steve notice that he liked it.

But hey, it was battle. You didn’t think about things like that. Especially not with strangers, right?

_Dean pants between gritted teeth. “Give up, Rogers.”_

_“Not happening, soldier.” Steve smiles and fumbles with Dean’s belt. Practice hasn’t made the tight leather guarding the hunter’s ass any easier to manage._

_Growling, Dean shoves him against the wall harder, sucks another dark purple spot on his neck. He snarls at his handiwork, both in pride and disgust, then licks it several more times, mouth open and tongue wide. With no response, he adds the light scrape of teeth to the sensitive area. Steve groans and pulls the belt off while Dean laughs against the curve of his collarbone._

_“Ah, you’re too easy in the end.”_

_“You’d know about that wouldn’t you?”_

_“Shut up, Steve.” Raising his head, Dean grabs Steve’s jaw with his hands and latches onto his lower lip, sucking his way into Steve’s mouth and sticking his tongue so far back Steve thanks his maker that his tonsils were removed. Or, well, Tony. He thanks Tony for that._

“You sure we’re safe here?”

“Of course, pretty boy.” Dean smiled, lean and loose in his seat. He took another sip of lemonade.

Steve watched him. “You know, you don’t seem to have much respect for the mission.”

Dean shrugged. “I don’t. What’s it to you?”

“I like to be able to trust my team.”

“You trust me.”

“Yeah, but I can’t explain to Director Fury that the reason I trust you is because your brother took care of my best friend and that we’re hiding both in an apartment I set up with my trust fund, because that’s just not something you tell a man that dangerous after lying to him about it already. Not to mention, the fact that you seem to take my trust for granted after such a short span of time seems to imply you don’t deserve it. Most men don’t.”

“Aww, you got a sassy side don’t you?”

Steve’s face heated. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was shy or angry. “No,” he muttered.

“Take a sip and then sit still and hold onto your tits – they’ll be here soon and the deal will go down just like rehearsed.”

/My tits./ Steve’s whole face was flaming now, he was sure. The way Dean talked made him uncomfortable and he hated it. Not that he wasn’t used to it. He’d been in the army. His comfort level was higher than most people gave him credit for. But that was probably why it bothered him – Dean didn’t treat him like most people. It unsettled him… He couldn’t sleep at night sometimes thinking about it. About the way Dean got angry at him or understood about Bucky or swore or bought him lunch or—

“Can I get you anything else?”

He looked up, startled by the sudden approach of the waitress. As he paid and thanked her, he tried to pretend he wasn’t aware of Dean watching him, smiling like all the world was his.

Well, the whole world wasn’t. And especially not Steve. Bastard.

Dean watched him fume into his lemonade and failed at wiping the smile off his lips. The way Steve reacted to his every word kept him going at it, and he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed working with the man, even if he was a tight-wound pansy. Well, not exactly. He knew Steve well enough to know that wasn’t true. But if that’s how he thought of him sometimes, alone… in his room… That didn’t really matter.

He crunched the ice in his drink loudly and grinned even wider when Steve glared. Not that he was doing it on purpose. Because that would be stupid. Idiotic.

_Dean pops off Steve’s mouth audibly. “My god… Are you thinking about Stark again?” He wipes his lips with the back of a hand and laughs around it._

_“What. No.” Steve tries to lunge after him, overestimates and slams him against the other wall. He smiles. The upper hand is his._

_“Steve I can actually feel your cock get softer when you think about that asshole. Would you please concentrate on /this/ asshole? It’s not like I’m not trying.” Dean’s cock twitches against Steve’s hip and it’s all Steve can do to not laugh, it feels so irritated. “Son of a bi—are you laughing at me.”_

_“No!” Steve bites at Dean’s ear and smiles. “Well, a bit. You do look amusing, what with all the pretty little marks on your chest…” He rubs a thumb over one, hums against Dean in contentment. “And your eyebrows doing their menacing act…” He drags his lips over Dean’s face to kiss said brows, then each eyelid in turn. “And your dick all angry against mine…” He lowers a hand to touch but Dean pushes back and grabs his hips with hard fingers._

_“Steve, if you do not finish undressing and get into bed right this minute I will suck you off right now and not let you breathe before starting over.”_

_There is a pause._

_“As tempting at it would now be to stay here I promise I’ll make it last a whole lot longer in bed."_

_Honorable retreats are good in both war and love, Steve thinks. Dean just thinks he likes watching Steve retreat._

“Well this is compromising.”

Steve ignored him.

“Hey, Cap, you aren’t at all bothered by this?”

The ignoring intensified.

“Mm, well, if you’re okay with it, I am. Bisexual Captain America? Oh the news will gobble that up when you decide to let them know.”

A glare didn’t appear to break the ignoring. It just made it more pointed.

“Hey, look, it wasn’t my choice to hide us in a fucking broom closet, alright? Chill your jaw and relax a little. You’re making me all twitchy with your stone soldier façade.”

“We could have died.” Steve could not believe the mouth on this man. In more ways than one.

“Story of our lives, Steve. Story of life in the general. We made it, we got the intel, we’re heading back home as soon the white lady of the night seduces us out of hiding. Can’t you just sit down and take it?”

He stood a moment longer before sighing and dropping to a crouch. “Move over.”

“No can do. As much room as is available.”

Steve sent a prayer of gratitude up to the quickly darkening skies which hide the color on his face. He hoped. “I’m not sitting on you.”

“And I’m not letting you stand for the next foreseeable decade waiting for the moon to rise. Sit down.” Dean’s voice was careless but careful and Steve suspected he was more affected by their close-call than he let on. So after a moment, he lowered himself the rest of the way.

It was an awkward silence until Steve snorted, breaking it. Dean smiled at him. “What?”

“Just not how I pictured any of this.”

“You pictured yourself sitting on my lap?”

There was no recovery from that, and the moon couldn’t rise fast enough. Steve didn’t make direct eye contact the whole ride back.

Dean was quiet too. He got out another beer when they reached the house again, and watched tv for too many hours. He woke up disoriented and groggy, feeling like crap, but when he made to get up he found a blanket tucked around him neatly. He knew it was Steve’s. He could smell it.

At that thought, he shoved it off and got up to use the bathroom. Once the door was shut though, he realized that he was… excited. And it wasn’t long before he realized he was still thinking about Steve sitting on his lap, laughing for no reason.

He went out hunting the rest of the day.

_Steve rolls him over, grins down, breathes slowly on Dean’s face. “You’re right, bed is so much better.” He rolls his hips, moaning at the feel of Dean against him. “Even better than that porch in Paris.”_

_“It… was a bench. And it was the poor part of.. Paris,” Dean pants, and he raises his head, kisses Steve fiercely and with no small amount of teeth. Steve purrs into it and lets Dean push him back on his ass. He sinks deeper into the kiss and doesn’t stop for breath until Dean pulls away first. “Don’t flatter yourself.”_

_“I don’t have to. You do it for me.”_

_“Oh, shut up.” Dean grips Steve’s cock in his hand, twists and pulls and the breath starts coming shorter even for serum-improved super soldiers with that move. /Every time,/ says Dean’s smirk and Steve thinks he’s going to laugh but instead he groans when Dean does it again and-- dammit. Dammit. It does work every time. Breathing heavily, he grips Dean’s ass with both hands and pulls him onto his lap._

_“Never,” he whispers, and bites Dean’s shoulder._

It doesn’t even take much for Dean to start sleeping (and sleeping only) with him. Just a scream, same as started it all to begin with. Nightmares, Steve knew. Sometimes he thought he knew them better than he knew himself, but nevertheless, when he heard a scream in the middle of the night he understood.

He scrambled almost clumsily into Dean’s room, picked him up and held him, held him safe until he woke up and clutched at Steve instead of scrabbling against him. They were silent. Dean’s panting faded.

When eventually they were both still, Steve put him back down, the fear in his chest loosening and unravelling. A gentle worry took its place. Dean didn’t look at him, just stared at the wall and mumbled a thank you. He looked so vulnerable. He looked like Bucky when Dean’s Sam first brought him back: like a shell. Scared and shrinking and wishing he had the bigger things back to hide behind again.

Sam and Bucky had shared a room from the start. It helped with the nightmares and the fear and the way Bucky couldn’t look anyone in the face. So, Steve figured, it only made sense that he was there for Dean too. It would naturally make sense. Of course.

He didn’t use sheets or the blanket, just laid next to Dean until he managed to force himself to sleep.

In the morning, Dean had his head on Steve’s chest. Steve didn’t move for a very long time. Dean kept his eyes closed, but Steve felt him press closer when he woke up. He stared at the ceiling until his eyes slid shut again.

_Dean opens with little preparation. Steve feels bad about it, almost. Almost. It’s the way Dean’s face flickers shut with long practice when Steve slides a finger in that makes him feel almost, and it’s the way he cracks open an eye to grin wickedly back at Steve that keeps him from anything more._

_“Your turn next time,” Dean grunts, and grabs at Steve’s arm for balance._

_Steve leans down and kisses him slow, feeling the heat grow as he tastes the whiskey that seems permanently on Dean’s tongue. “Not if you keep on being so damn pretty,” he whispers. He adds a second finger and Dean jolts up against him, making a soft noises that goes straight to Steve’s gut._

_“Shut up, shut up, c’mon.”_

_Steve trails his mouth down Dean’s neck and chest, sucks on one nipple just to feel Dean’s stomach spasm, kisses the divot between his muscles, then the tip of his cock._

_“God dammit, Steve.”_

_He fits a hand to the small of Dean’s back and lifts his ass, steadies him. He slides in smoothly but still struggles to control his own breathing. “Don’t think God’s involved here in the way you’re thinking, but I—“ Dean bucks and Steve grunts. “I appreciate the—“ Dean laughs hoarsely and does it again. “I—“ He doesn’t finish his sentence._

Steve had a plan for their first kiss. On a rooftop at sunset, maybe, or during a dance. Somewhere romantic but private enough that they would be safe and no chance of being interrupted by anyone else. If he timed it just right, maybe he could even manage a candle or a suit, a witty one-liner and a wink. Something suave that wouldn’t make Dean laugh at him, but still manage to soothe the stupid tension that had come up between them in the past month or so. There had been a plan. A real plan.

Dean would have said the exact same thing. He had a plan for kissing Steve Rogers. It mostly consisted of three points, which involved various stages of proximity, lips, and tongue, but it was a plan. It was a good plan.

But then they were fighting some street thugs back to back, moving perfectly together and relying fully on the other, and when it was over there was so much adrenaline and battle heat and trust and it was overwhelming and…

At least that’s what Dean said afterward. All Steve knew was perfect contentment with Dean as his battle partner, and that when he looked up from the bodies on the ground to smile at him, Dean was a lot closer than he expected, and Dean was breathing hard, and then his lips were on Steve’s and the whole world was full of static and neither one could feel his heart.

The tabloids had only one picture, because superheroes have their ways of covering their asses, but Dean cut it out and framed it. He showed it off to guests. Steve said he hated it. He was lying. He rather liked the way Dean’s hands fit on his hips so well, and how gently he cupped Dean’s jaw as they kissed each other like nervous schoolgirls.

He never mentioned his own worn copy.

_Dean keeps trying to say his name but it just comes out in slurred gasps and the way he grips Steve shoulders. There’s a bead of sweat on his brow but he hasn’t looked away from Steve in minutes and his eyes are blown so wide, so full of trust and safety and the obvious pleasure._

_Steve is panting, his hips tiring but neither of them are finished and his arms shake with strain but it’s more show than actuality – his strength lasts for so long. He’d give it all for Dean. In fact, he has, and chances are he will again. He leans down again and kisses Dean briefly, sloppy and all tongue, no finesse, just a touch and a grasping and some sort of contact._

_Beneath him, Dean arches his back and groans. He reaches down to fist his own cock but Steve shoves away his hand, does it for him. Although he wants to stroke slowly, he can’t help the pace. Dean groans again and Steve thinks maybe he’d do absolutely anything to keep him doing that over and over and over again._

_He picks up speed again and Dean swears, licks and bites at Steve’s neck. Steve would have smiled but he was too far gone for anything but what would almost be…_

_“Was that a whine?”_

“Boyfriends.”

Steve choked on the coffee and nearly spat it back out in the sink. Carefully, he set the mug back down on the counter before looking up at Dean, who sat reading a newspaper without a sign of having said anything.

“Sorry?”

He set down the newspaper and circled a few ads with red marker. “Boyfriends.”

“I… Okay?”

“It’s about time we had a title, if only to keep the tabloids from calling us lovers in the night. Makes me wanna be sick.”

Steve looked back down at his coffee, studies it with an overwhelming intensity. “I wasn’t aware we were earning any names.”

“Well, we’re dating aren’t we?” Dean’s voice was confident but Steve almost felt that there was a real question to it, hidden behind the straightforwardness.

There was a long pause.

“I’d like that, yes,” Steve said finally.

Dean grinned. His stomach was doing weird things in conjunction with his heart and he swallowed. “Is that your way of saying you’ll let me take you out?”

“If that’s your way of asking.”

He stole a cheeky, too-short kiss from Steve before almost running toward the door with his jacket slung over his shoulder. “Gonna go check on a few things with my Sam.” Steve nodded and tried to remember what on earth he was thinking about before his heart stopped working, when Dean got up the courage to speak again. “Aren’t you coming, boyfriend?”

He grabbed the shield only just before Dean’s hand. “Always.”

_Steve collapses and there’s only the sound of heavy breathing for a long moment. Everything starts fading back to color. Dean chuckles beneath him, but ends in more of a long sigh._

_“Shutup,” he mutters unevenly. “Don’t give yourself too much credit.”_

_Steve smiles to himself and rolls over, pulls Dean closer to him before replying, “You’re kind of a mess. Sticky all over.” He thumps a finger on Dean’s cum-stuck belly and smiles when it sticks slightly._

_“And I wonder whose fault that would be?”_

_“I’ll take the blame any day.” Steve presses a kiss to his hairline and nuzzles him._

_“Jerk.”_

_“Soldier.”_

_Dean makes a frustrated sound at the bad line and tries to smack him, but ends up leaving his hand pressed against Steve’s chest. Steve would swear he’s practically humming as he snuggles closer. /Snuggles. Not a word one would think applies to Dean Winchester./ But he likes it. He likes it a lot._

_“Go to sleep,” he whispers. “We’ll clean up later. Love you.”_

_Dean wraps the blanket around him. The last thing Steve hears is his whisper, “I love you too. Idjit.”_

**Author's Note:**

> legally this was written Christmas of '15 or '16, but in the interest of sharing past shame with the world and therefore disarming it....


End file.
